


Open Your Door (To a New Family)

by RetroactiveCon



Series: Praying That It'll Be You [29]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Family Dinners, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Protective Parent Joe West, Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:27:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24998305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RetroactiveCon/pseuds/RetroactiveCon
Summary: “We’re doing what?”Barry scuffs his toe against the rug. Hartley has seldom seen him look this bashful about anything. “I…maybe…told Joe we’d come to family dinner."
Relationships: Barry Allen/Hartley Rathaway, Eddie Thawne/Iris West
Series: Praying That It'll Be You [29]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1562548
Comments: 6
Kudos: 76





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SliceOSunshine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SliceOSunshine/gifts), [Warren_Pace](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warren_Pace/gifts).



> Apparently independently, I got two requests for Hartley going to a family dinner and bonding with Joe. Warren_Pace also requested some Cecile and Wally - I hope I did them justice!
> 
> Update: changed the tags because a very kind friend brought to my attention that whatever Joe's intentions were, Hartley gets into a terrible headspace during their talk and I should warn for that.

“We’re doing what?” 

Barry scuffs his toe against the rug. Hartley has seldom seen him look this bashful about anything. “I…maybe…told Joe we’d come to family dinner. It won’t be weird or anything! Iris is bringing Eddie, and Cecile is gonna be there—uh, she and Joe are together now, it’s cute.”

“What about Wally?” Hartley asks not out of any hesitation about Wally—he’s worked with him too often to be awkward—but because he can’t imagine Joe having to feed two speedsters and all the rest of them. He’s not sure the table would hold that much food.

Barry grins. “My dad and Harry have a system about where Jesse and Wally eat on which nights so that they can plan for feeding speedsters. It’s Harry’s night to have them, although Wally might come home early—Harry gets weird and boots him out the door as soon as they finish eating.”

That explains a lot. Hartley had once, foolishly, thought he and Barry had a monopoly on making out in empty rooms in STAR Labs. The first time they’d found Wally and Jesse kissing, they’d had to field desperate pleas of “Oh no please don’t tell our dads!”

“He knows they’re old enough to make their own choices, and it’s better to let them make informed ones?” He folds his arms over his chest. What little education he’d gotten from his parents about relationships had, if anything, made him more vulnerable to faux-Wells’ manipulation. If Harry and Joe are under the misapprehension that not talking to Jesse and Wally will keep them safe, they’re doing them a disservice.

Barry shrugs. “Joe is awkward. He means well, but he’s not always great at recognizing that we’re not kids anymore, and that includes talking about our relationships. So um, be prepared for awkward.”

Hartley arches an eyebrow. From what he’s seen of Joe, he leans toward expressing that awkwardness by being curt in a way that sometimes borders on unpleasant, but at the very least he’s nothing like Hartley’s parents. “I can handle awkward.”

Can he indeed, he wonders half an hour later, as they arrive at the Wests’ house with rolls and a bottle of wine. Joe greets them at the door, hugs Barry, and nods at Hartley with a curt, “Hey.”

He’s not prepared for this. Joe doesn’t like him. Just a few months ago, he wouldn’t have cared. Now that he and Barry are as intimate as they are, he needs Joe to like him. He doesn’t have a script or a list of expectations—how is he supposed to make Joe like him? Because mimicry is usually an appropriate response, he settles on, “Hey,” and trails Barry into the house.

“I can go,” he murmurs as they wander over to put the food in the kitchen. “This is supposed to be a fun time with your family.”

“No, I want you to stay.” Barry sets down the basket of rolls, turns around, and leans in for a sweet kiss. “You can step out if you need to, but try it for me?”

That Hartley can do. He’s good at playing happy and friendly in social situations when it matters to the people he loves. “Of course.”

“Iris!” Barry bolts across the room to hug Iris. Hartley is left standing awkwardly in the kitchen. He’s unprepared for Eddie Thawne to step over to him and smile a crooked, altogether too bright smile.

“Hey. Long time.”

“Over a year,” Hartley agrees. He can’t say he’s been avoiding Eddie for fear of memories by association—Eddie has no reason to know that, and he’s loath to even indirectly invite that discussion tonight.

“I never got to thank you for getting me out of there.” Eddie’s grin is as absurdly sincere as Barry’s. “Iris told me you were the one who found me.”

So much for avoiding the topic of faux-Wells’ hidey-hole. “I was unfortunate enough to know it existed. It made sense he’d keep you there.” Hartley eyes the bottle of wine in his hands. He hopes there’s a way to get out of drinking with dinner. “I should go—”

“No.” Eddie holds out a hand. “That wasn’t why I came over here. I actually wanted to give you some pointers.”

“Pointers?” Hartley arches an eyebrow but stops his hasty retreat. “For what?”

“I was in your shoes not that long ago—dating Iris despite Joe’s disapproval. He can be…” Eddie glances over his shoulder. “Honestly, kind of passive-aggressive? It took me awhile to realize he was trying to protect Iris and he didn’t want to be the one to start the hard conversation—I think Iris probably told him he couldn’t start it.”

Hartley glances at Barry, who’s laughing with Joe and Cecile. “He should have tried harder to protect Barry in the beginning,” he mumbles. “It’s a little late now.”

“Hey.” Eddie lays a hand on his shoulder. “Joe will warm up to you. He’s overprotective, but he wants Barry to be happy. And trust me,” he adds with a laugh, “I’ve heard Barry gush about his cute science boyfriend at work. He’s happy.”

“He talks about me?” Hartley can’t imagine why. He’s not important enough for Barry to care about him outside the times they’re together. Certainly he doesn’t warrant ‘gushing.’

Eddie snorts. “He doesn’t shut up about you. It gets on Joe’s nerves, but he can’t do anything about it—Barry just likes to talk.”

“That’s…” Endearing, just like everything else about Barry. “Could you excuse me?”

“Uh, don’t…” Eddie reaches out to catch his shoulder. Thankfully, something makes him think better of it. “Don’t kiss in front of Joe if you can help it. He gives you the raised eyebrow of judgment and it’s not fun.” 

“Duly noted.” Hartley ducks across the Wests’ dining room to where Barry is propped against the arm of a living room chair. He doesn’t say anything; instead, he catches Barry in an embrace and burrows his face into Barry’s chest.

“Hey,” Barry coos. He kisses the side of Hartley’s head and asks, in a whisper only Hartley can hear, “Is it too much?”

“No.” Hartley squeezes him. “I just don’t think I told you how much I love you recently.”

Barry makes a soft, startled, happy sound and ducks his head. “I love you too.”

“Barr.” Joe nods toward the front door. His eyes are fixed on Hartley, not angrily but pensively. Hartley hopes he hasn’t done something terribly wrong. “Can I talk to you for a minute?” 

“Yeah, of course.” Barry brushes his thumb over Hartley’s cheek. “I’ll be back. Can you maybe help Iris and Cecile set the table?”

Hartley nods. “Yeah, sure.”

“I’ve got him for now.” Cecile lays a hand on Hartley’s shoulder. He manages not to flinch too obviously. “I’ve been hoping to talk to you, actually. Come on, you can help me bring the food in.”

Obediently, Hartley follows her to the kitchen and grabs a serving bowl and the basket of rolls. Cecile grabs a larger dish in both hands. As they walk back to the table, she says, “You know, Barry talks about you a lot. It’s clear how much he loves you.”

“Is this a shovel talk?” Hartley asks. “I’ve never had a shovel talk before.” Out of nowhere, his mind supplies that the only person who would have been qualified to give him a shovel talk about faux-Wells is Eddie. Not only would Eddie not have wanted to, but at the time that the shovel talk would have been relevant, he’d have been as young and inexperienced as Hartley.

“No. Well, kind of.” Cecile offers a bright, crooked smile that somehow makes him feel safe. “Joe will give you the shovel talk, I’m sure, and I haven’t been in Barry’s life enough to really feel qualified. It’s more of an ‘I’m glad you made it’ talk.”

“Oh.” Hartley sets the dish and the basket on the table and stands there blinking in bewilderment. “Um, thanks?”

“And also, I’ve asked this of Barry, but the less I know about your superhero alter ego, the easier it is for me.” She shrugs. “I’m the DA, your hero-ing isn’t exactly legal, so the less I know…”

“The less culpable you are for not doing something about it.” Hartley nods. “It’s okay. There’s plenty to talk about outside of that—including your work, I’m sure.” 

Cecile laughs. “There’s only so much I can talk about outside work—something everyone here forgets from time to time. If you’re looking for interesting work stories, you should ask Iris.” She waves at Iris, who looks up and grins. “She always has stories to tell, and…if you want to impress Joe, you’ll do best by showing that you respect his children.”

Hartley nods slowly. “That makes sense.”

“And that goes for Barry as well as Iris.” Cecile leads the way back into the kitchen to bring out more food. Hartley trails her. “There’s a difference between loving someone and respecting them, and if you can’t do both, Joe has no reason to approve of you.”

“I think I understand.” Hartley glances toward the front door. He wonders if Joe is asking Barry whether he feels loved and respected. (Barry should say no, he thinks before realizing that putting words in Barry’s mouth isn’t particularly respectful.) 

“Good.” Cecile grins and goes up on tiptoe to fetch down the wineglasses. 

“I’ve got this,” Hartley offers. He doesn’t think of himself as particularly tall, but it’s going to be easier for him to get the glasses down than Cecile.

“Hey!” Iris calls. “Come on, everyone, I’m hungry and the food is just sitting here!” When nobody shows particular interest, she adds playfully, "Wow, okay, I guess nobody's hungry, that must mean all this is mine."

Cecile and Hartley share a smile. “Well,” he murmurs, “she has a point.”

Dinner escapes being awkward mostly by virtue of Iris and Barry’s banter. The two of them go back and forth about new happenings in their lives and weird old inside jokes that they have to pause to explain for Eddie, Hartley, and Cecile’s benefit. Eddie chips in occasionally but tends to be met with a kiss and “You’re so cute” from Iris. (The way he melts and stares at her worshipfully makes Hartley think this is a common occurrence.) 

As dinner winds down, the door opens and Wally bolts into the house. He stops by the table to grab a roll, sees the picked-over dinner and the guests, and offers a little wave. “Hey everybody.”

“Did you have fun with Jesse?” Iris’s eyes are twinkling. Joe glares a reproach that she seems not to notice (or at least not to care about). 

“Uh, Harry told us we couldn’t go on a run after dinner, which is why I ran home—all that pent-up energy.” He grabs the last three rolls, stuffs two in his pockets, and takes a bite out of the third one. “And hey, Hartley. Didn’t expect to see you here.”

Hartley leans closer to Barry and manages a grin. “I can be social sometimes, see?”

“Never said you couldn’t be.” Wally claps a hand on his shoulder. “You’re getting better about being part of the team. I just wasn’t sure you did family things.”

With good reason, given what he knows of Hartley. Rather than bring this up, Hartley asks, “Are you going to stay and chat with us?”

“Actually, I was hoping you and I could have a word.” Joe lays a hand on Hartley’s shoulder. “Help me clear the table.”

Agreeably, he gets to his feet, picks up as many dirty dishes as he can carry, and follows Joe into the kitchen. The others, including Wally, drift into the living room. More than once as he returns for more dishes, Hartley sees Barry watching him nervously. That isn’t helpful. 

“You know.” Joe waits until they have all the dishes in the kitchen to speak. He gets out some plastic containers to store the few leftovers; Hartley steps over to the sink and starts to wash the dishes. “Barry loves you a lot. To dangerous levels, I’d say.”

“And I’d say you were right,” Hartley murmurs. The incident with the telepath left him with no doubt about how much Barry loves him or the lengths Barry would go to ensure his comfort. He’d spent days afterward in a lovesick daze, but once the initial thrill faded, a new problem presented itself: he’s in a position to hurt Barry as badly as faux-Wells hurt him. Since then, he’s been hyperaware of any sign that he might, even unintentionally, be manipulating or coercing Barry. Joe is right to worry.

“Barry’s more careful with his heart than he acts,” Joe admits, “but once he gives it, he’s reckless. He’ll put his own needs last until he uses himself up, and a partner with the wrong motivations could bleed him dry.” He studies Hartley with wary eyes. “Now, I don’t know your story all that well, but you seem like someone who doesn’t reach out to others very well. And I’m worried that if you put all your problems on my boy, he’ll let you until he breaks.”

Hartley nods. He’s acutely aware that he’s not as attuned to Barry’s needs as Barry is to his (and that of itself is dangerous, the way his fear of expressing his needs has forced Barry to read into his every action). He doesn’t give nearly as much support as he gets. Until now, he hadn’t considered that the problem might be his woefully small support circle; Barry probably (or at least, hopefully) turns to others for the support Hartley sometimes fails to give him. “Is this a ‘get away from him’ talk or a ‘do better and we’ll see’ talk?”

“Do better and we’ll see,” Joe says, although his tone makes it abundantly clear that he’d prefer the other one. “I’ve been told off by _all_ my kids for giving the ‘get away from them’ talk, so I’m trying to respect their choices. I just wanna make sure their partners make sure they’re the best versions of themselves for my kids.”

“And I can respect that,” Hartley agrees.

There’s a long, awkward stretch of silence broken only by the raspy sound of the sponge over dishes and the dull thump of food being put into a new container. Presently, Hartley murmurs, “I don’t think I ever thanked you.”

Joe sounds bewildered. “Thanked me?”

“For the way you care for Barry.” Hartley finishes the last plate and moves to the serving dishes. “He told me that no matter what happened or what he said to you, he never doubted that he was valued and had a home. That’s…just, thank you.”

Joe makes a soft, wounded sound. “You know, when you were disowned, it was all over the news.”

Hartley scoffs. “Don’t remind me.” When the tabloids first got hold of his story, he’d had people he’d never met come up to him and either apologize to him or spit in his face (or, a few times, proposition him, which had appalled him at the time and sickens him even more in retrospect). 

“I took Barry and Iris aside—they’d have been, oh, tail end of middle school at the time, there was no way they hadn’t heard about it, kids that age love to talk—and I told them they’d never have to worry about something like that happening to them no matter what they told me.” Joe sighs. “I’m sure I’m gonna regret asking this, but what happened after that?”

“That was the summer before my final year at college, so I accrued debt that I thought would kill me while I finished school, and then Harrison Wells offered me a job.” Hartley shudders. Dishwater splashes up onto his shirt, and he glowers down at the sink. “STAR Labs was the closest thing I had to a home before Barry.”

Joe makes a disgusted sound. Hartley shuts down immediately, preparing for accusations of whoring himself out to pay off his debts (not that he could fault Joe for saying it when he thinks the same). He’s unprepared for Joe’s strangely protective, “And I’m sure every doubt I had about what he might get up to with Barry, he actually got up to with you.”

“You noticed it too?” Hartley is aware of how pitiful he sounds but can’t seem to stop himself. It’s unpleasantly easy to wonder if he’d baited faux-Wells somehow—if otherwise, faux-Wells was manipulative and evil but not _that_ creepy.

“Well, fuck,” Joe mumbles. More loudly—perhaps he’s forgotten Hartley’s enhanced hearing—he says, “I’m a cop and a father. If I can’t read someone’s intentions when they’re that blatantly creepy, I got no claim to either title.”

Wally bolts into the kitchen just long enough to steal a handful of grapes from a bowl on the counter. When he returns to the living room, Hartley hears (if Joe doesn’t) a murmured, “They don’t seem to be killing each other, at least.”

Joe snorts. “Guess I’ve got a reputation.”

“To be fair, I’m equally likely to lash out when threatened,” Hartley concedes. He puts the last dish in the drying rack and turns to face Joe. “Shall we go out and be social?”

“We better, or they’ll bring the party to us.” Joe gives him an odd look before beckoning him toward the door. “C’mon. Might as well.”

When they get out to the living room, Hartley wanders over to Barry, who’s beside Iris on the couch. Barry reaches out and pulls him into his lap. “Hey,” he murmurs. “You’re not dead.”

“Of course not.” Hartley feigns shock that Barry would consider such an outcome. “How could you think such a thing? We had a productive conversation.”

Iris turns to face him and demands with a reporter’s insistence, “Oh really? Then why are you clinging to Barry like that?”

“Because I love him,” Hartley replies readily. The other answer—Barry grounds him when he starts to feel panicky—isn’t something he wants to have to explain. 

Iris makes a melodramatic happy face and coos, “Awww.” Barry splutters a half-coherent reply, apparently sensitive to her teasing despite (or maybe because of) having grown up with it. Hartley just laughs. He doesn’t feel quite at home, but at the very least, he feels more at ease than he did walking in.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For SophiaCatherine, who asked for some closure after Hartley's RSD spiral at the end of the previous chapter. This chapter goes more in-depth with Hartley's past EoWells trauma, but mostly in terms of how he's processing it, since that was on his mind while he spoke to Joe.

When they get home after dinner, Barry pulls Hartley down onto the sofa with him rather than let him go to bed. “We’re debriefing,” he says. “I know that was a lot for you.”

Hartley looks confused. “There’s nothing to debrief.” His tone means the exact opposite. Barry isn’t sure he knows he has that tone—he’d probably do everything in his power to get rid of it if he did. “Your family is great. Iris has wonderful stories.”

“And Joe?” Barry probes gently.

Hartley shrugs. He’d been exceptionally clingy after talking with Joe, so Barry knows something happened—he’s just not entirely sure what. “Joe cares a lot about making sure you’re happy. He wanted me to do better for you. It wasn’t an unreasonable request.”

“What did he ask?” Barry has his own conversation with Joe that he’d like to break down, but he figures it can wait until after Hartley has explained what was said in the kitchen.

Hartley shrugs. “To not unload on you so much, or at least to reciprocate more. And not to let you tear yourself apart to keep me together, but we had that conversation, remember?” His expression softens. Barry does remember—they’d had that conversation in the wake of being psychically connected. “Joe was right to call me out on it.”

“What do you mean, not unload on me so much?” Barry isn't entirely sure how to take that. It's probably Hartley's interpretation of a less judgmental remark, but he wishes Joe hadn't poked this particular problem without all the information. Whatever he intended Hartley to think, it sounds like he took it as a reason to shut himself down again, which is too many steps backwards after too much hard work.

Hartley gives a mirthless chuckle. “I think he wants me to talk to the rest of Team Flash, not use you as my only source of support. It’s good advice, it's just…” He wilts. 

“It’s just that you could barely talk to me about it, much less the team,” Barry intuits. 

Hartley curls in on himself, brings his legs to his chest and wraps his arms tightly around them. “I can’t stand them knowing what happened. At best they’ll pity me—at worst they’ll be revolted, rightly so. God.” He shudders. “I can imagine how Caitlin would look at me—like I’d break. And Cisco...”

“And I wouldn’t ask you to do that.” Barry lays his hand on Hartley’s shoulder. His kneecap is closer, but also not for touching. “This is something we’re working through together, and it doesn’t…I mean, look at what happened when we were linked. You comforted me in exactly the ways I needed. I couldn't have asked for better support. It’s not like you don’t give back to me.”

“No, he’s right, this was a huge thing to put on you.” Hartley glances away. “And I kind of trapped you into dealing with it, so…”

And that, Barry decides, is why they’re debriefing. Joe meant well with everything he said, and he wasn’t wrong—Barry _does_ take on more of other people’s problems than he can handle, and then conflates them with his own and makes a mess of things—but Hartley’s mind runs away with him more often than not. Joe’s well-intentioned advice probably unearthed something Hartley has been mulling over for far too long. “What do you mean, trapped me into dealing with it?”

“I mean…” Hartley makes a face. “I should have told you at the beginning, when we were first sharing our faux-Wells-related traumas. I mean, I told you he groomed me, how much harder would it have been to say he…” He trails off and sighs. Barry tilts his head. He’s noticed this before—that outside of that first panicky spiral, Hartley can’t call what happened ‘rape.’ Barry can only assume he’s told himself he doesn’t have the right. “Anyway, if I’d told you then, you’d have had any number of reasons to reject me. You were dealing with hellish trauma of your own, you could have just said you weren’t ready for whatever started between us at that point…”

“So you think by not telling me until Thawne came back, you trapped me?” Barry clarifies.

Hartley glances up at him. “You should have the right to prioritize yourself, and I put you in a position where if you didn’t want to deal with my trauma, you’d have had to kick me out of your apartment—which is fine, I’ve been kicked out for less—or told me to get over it, which is also fine, but you would never do any of that. If I’d told you earlier, you’d have been able to tell me you didn't have the energy to deal with me without sounding like a terrible person.”

The thought of kicking Hartley out of the apartment after watching him break down makes Barry feel physically ill. Worse is Hartley’s casual tone. “Hartley, _no._ You needed my help, and you still do. That’s not something I’m upset about. Joe is right, I…I’m actually a lot worse with emotional processing than I think you think I am? But this is something that affects both of us, and it’s something that I want to help you process. I just…maybe need to also learn to ask you for more help than I do.”

Slowly, Hartley tips sideways until his face is buried in Barry’s shoulder. “There was one good thing I realized from Joe’s talk, before…” He waves a hand. “Whatever the fuck my brain started doing. I either need to get better at dealing with things myself or I need to learn to say what I mean. No more making you guess. Faux-Wells used to do that to me and I…” He shudders. Barry can fill in the rest.

“Please don’t try to deal with it on your own just yet? Because I say this with love, but you’re terrible at it.” To Barry’s relief, this earns a weary snort of laughter. “But I’d like it a lot if you were more open with me. And I know it’s a process—I’m proud of how far you’ve come.”

“It’s not good enough,” Hartley says dismissively. Before Barry can chide him for that, he redirects. “You and Joe talked on the porch for awhile.”

“Um, yeah. He was giving me a talk about whether I felt heard in our relationship, whether I should stand up for myself more—he doesn’t think of you as a bad influence anymore, I think? I think he’s actually gotten used to you having my back in the field.” Barry says this with a little grin. Winning Joe’s favor is no small feat, but Hartley is excellent backup for the Flash. (Winning that same favor as a boyfriend is significantly harder, but Barry suspects Hartley found that out the hard way.) “He was mostly just concerned about whether I’ve been giving too much.”

“Well, he’s probably right to worry.” Hartley looks up. Whatever he sees makes him lean up and kiss Barry’s nose. “You kept shutting down your anger for how long?”

Barry affects his most blatantly guilty grin. “We’re both learning, right?”

“Right.” 

There’s a stretch of silence—comfortable on Barry’s end but slightly tense on Hartley’s. Barry is considering prodding him for an explanation when he whispers, “What if I don’t learn fast enough? I’m stupid when it comes to emotions, I always have been.”

“There aren’t milestones.” Barry runs his fingers through Hartley’s hair. “I just want to grow with you. I love Joe, and he had good advice for us, but he doesn’t have all the information, and he doesn’t get to set milestones that you have to reach to be worthy of me.”

“But more talking is a good goal?” 

Barry rocks them slowly back and forth. He can feel the tension creeping out of Hartley’s shoulders with every rock. “Talking is always a good goal,” he agrees.

“Then can we talk about some of those stories Iris told over dinner?” Hartley sounds like he’s making an effort to be playful. It might be a distraction, but Barry wants to trust him enough to believe he just wants to shift the subject. “Because I want to hear about you trying to make a hoverboard with the vacuum cleaner.”

Barry laughs. Iris had only briefly alluded to the hoverboard debacle over dinner, but of course it caught Hartley’s attention. “Sure, yeah, we can talk about that. So, this wasn’t for a science fair or anything, I was just a nerd like that…”

A few minutes later, laughing over disassembled vacuums and grumpy Joe, Barry realizes that he might be the only person that Hartley turns to for help, but he’s also the only one who routinely sees him laugh so freely. He can wish Hartley felt comfortable enough to open up to someone else—thinks it would be good for both of them in the long run—but for now, he’s happy to be see him open up in whatever form it takes.


End file.
